Dammit, England!
by BeerForBreakfastTwo-Bit
Summary: England, fed up with America's arrogance, decides to curse the man, but in a turn of events triggered by our favourite Russia, things go awry, and two personifications find themselves in quite the predicament.
1. Prolouge

An enraged England stormed into his house, raindrops dripping from his hair and clothing onto the hardwood floor. The World meeting, where he had just come from, had been a total disaster, as usual. And currently, what was the main cause of England's annoyance?

That. Git. America.

So arrogant, so cocky, so idiotic! God, did the younger country annoy him. Though his usual hurt surfaced, the man easily drowned it, summoning up feelings of anger and hatred for the blonde he had once considered to be something of a son, though they were distant siblings at best, it turned out.

In his haze of boiling anger, he had devised a plan. What better than to curse his younger brother~? He had bribed Canada into getting a lock of his brother's hair, as well as various other countries'. Hey, he never said that black magic was socially acceptable, and with Canada being so shy, it had been easy for England to pressure the man into getting what he needed.

Smirking, the man donned his cloak, pulling the hood over his head, and walking into his dimly lit room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He started muttering spells, the curse circle drawn on the floor starting to glow a purple, and brightening by the second. England's smirk only grew as he reached into his cloak, pulling out a cloth bag. Out of said bag, he pulled a lock of hair.

"Heh. Let's see how he likes being that bloody Frog's sister. That ought to take him down a few notches," England mumbled to himself, letting out a low chuckle. He quickly pulled off the binding and the tag, examining the long, blonde strands, before tossing them onto the floor, in the center of the circle. A hissing sound rose up as the lock simmered, but England paid no mind, instead moving and pulling two more locks from the cloth bag, looking down to see which was America's.

"Ah~! Hello England. You called~?" Russia's head suddenly popped up from the ground, his trademark grin of odd happiness and dark aura coming right along with him.

England, who was straining to see his own small, loopy cursive in the dark, was startled, turning quickly to face the country, sighing with both annoyance at being interrupted, and slight anxiety (Russia always messed up his spells). In an oh-so-graceful turn of events, England tripped. His fingers opened, the two locks of hair in his hand falling from his grip. He reached for them, a sliver of panic for the fate of the curse appearing, and nipping at his chest.

He managed to catch one of the locks, and quickly checked the tag. If he had gotten lucky, he would have caught the hair of a country known as Gaila. Then, America's hair would be the one bubbling in the curse circle, and the curse would have worked perfectly. Not a thing would have gone wrong.

But alas, Arthur Kirkland was not that lucky of a man. That tag on the blonde hair in his hands was clearly marked. America. Alfred F. Jones.

"Oh, bloody hell . . ." England groaned, dropping to his knees as pushing Russia's head back into the ground, sending the man back to wherever he had been previously. The curse was already completed, the circle having already dimmed and the hair having burnt completely, the ashes of the locks mixed together.

It was final. The personifications of the City of Paris and the Republic of Gaila had switched bodies, and there was nothing to be done about it. Hell, England hadn't even found a counter for the curse, yet. That was precisely the reason he had chosen it for America.

England could only guess what would happen the following morning, when both women woke up and saw themselves in someone else's body. And if he knew the two as well as he believed he did, there would be some hell to pay.


	2. Dammit, England! Chapter 1

Paris woke up and yawned, she stretched her arms. She didn't know that she had switched bodies with her friend Gaila. It seemed that she couldn't remember anything that had happened the day before. Almost as if she had passed out. After standing up, Paris noticed something different already.

"Where am I? Am I at Gaila's house…? And where's my accent?!" Her question was quickly answered when she looked at the mirror. It caused her to let out a shriek. "I must be sleeping! I must! That isn't me! That's Gaila, this isn't possible!" the woman cried out. She didn't know what to do, or where to go for that matter.

"If I'm Gaila, then that means that- SHE MUST BE ME!" Paris couldn't stand to think of what might happen. It was nothing personal, it's just Paris had to make sure that she looked good, even if Gaila was in her body. "This is absolutely horrible! I'm in Gaila's body, she wears this horrid skirt and doesn't even have black and white stripes on any of her socks or leggings! I think I might die…She's so lucky that she's in my body." And after saying that, the thought really hit Paris hard. "Oh god, Gaila is in my body! GAILA DON'T RUIN MY HAIR!" she cried out, running from the bedroom. Paris was sure to look good even when she was running, putting one foot in front of the other. She refused to look anything less than perfect, even in Gaila's body. She was almost at the front door when she noticed she was still in Gaila's pajamas.

"The poor dear, does she really wear _this _everyday?" she questioned as she had gone back to Gaila's bedroom, remembering that she was in pajamas. "All pencil skirts, what is this!?" Paris seemed disgusted by the outfit, but put it on anyways. "It'll have to do." With that thought she got dressed and huffed.

"This is very uncomfortable." Paris finally rushed to go see Gaila, there was no way she was going to let her hair get messed up! She loved Gaila; she really did, but her hair could NOT be a mess. She didn't even knock on the door, it was technically her house. "Gaila!" She called out as she rushed to the bedroom and opened the door. The sight of seeing her own body sleeping made her smile "Aw, I'm simply mignon!" (Cute, even though in English it means darling.) She kneeled next to the bed and stroked her hair. She then remembered why she was there and nudged Gaila.

"Gaila, please wake up. I don't know what happened, but I really need you to wake up right now." She spoke rather softly. However, when the woman didn't move she got frustrated "Dammit, Gaila! Get up!" she pushed Gaila off the bed and then gasped. "Oh no!" She ran over just to make sure she was okay.

Paris didn't know what happened, or why Gaila and her had switched bodies. It was a mystery to her. What would happen to them? Would they be able to switch back? Would her hair get frizzy? All absolutely horrible thoughts, but we can only find out in the next chapter of Dammit, England!

Author's note: Sarah's chapter! :) This is a collaboration story between my best friend and I. I don't know her username on here, but her Quizilla username is fuzzycats12.


	3. Dammit, England! Chapter 2

Gaila nuzzled into the nest of blankets around her. Finally, she was able to get a full night's rest. For the first time in a long time, she was able to relax, lie in bed with her eyes closed, though she was fully awake.

Until, of course, the shrill ringing of an alarm clock sounded next to her.

Naturally, she assumed that she was too tired to remember to turn the alarm off before she retired the previous night, and simply stuck out her hand, flicking the alarm off and falling back into a peaceful doze. She could use the sleep, and she had no desire to leave the pile of heard a voice far off and mumbled a bit, assuming that it was one of her brothers, coming to get her for something or another. America seemed all too enthusiastic to do that. Her thoughts were broken when she was shoved off of the bed.

Her eyes flew open and she squeaked, jumping to her feet and narrowing her eyes. A familiar face stood before her, but it wasn't the obnoxious blonde she expected. Instead, she was staring into her own eyes.

"The hell?" She mumbled, glancing around the room she was in. It was nothing like her own, and she was beyond confused. She shook her head, backing up from her seeming doppelganger and hitting a pink-and-white wall. A lock of hair fell into her face. Not her hair; this lock was light brown instead of black. She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror, and froze.

"What the fuck? I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming!" She shook her head, obviously in denial. Of course, she didn't mind Paris at all. She just didn't want to _be_ Paris, for any length of time.

A simple pinch to the forearm was all it took for the reality of the situation to hit her. She ran her hand through her hair, tousling it into an even messier state than it was already in.

"You . . . .Me . . .How . . .WHAT?" She frantically looked to Paris for answers, though she guessed that the woman knew no more about it than she did. With a long sigh, she shook her head once more, pushing Paris out of the way.

"How could this have happened?" She was already frustrated, pacing the length of the room and gritting her teeth. The blonde man bursting into the room directly to the right of her helped none of this, and only prodded at her more.

"Paris? What is it? Why _are_ you yelling at this hour?" Growing up with her brothers, it was almost expected that France annoyed her. And oh, did he. However, the man only looked over to Paris (In Gaila's body) and smirked, letting out an, "_Onhonhon_," and sliding over to her, his arm placed firmly around the woman's shoulder.

"Gaila? Here so early?" Gaila tried to ignore him, looking down at her clothing, and sighing. of course, she was dressed in Paris' fancy clothes, instead of her own beat up flannel shirt. Roughly, she caught the arms of both France and Paris, shoving them out of the room and closing the door. No way was she going to continue this conversation without being properly dressed.

Taking one glance at Paris' closet, she sighed. Flouncy skirts, striped socks, berets, and off-the-shoulder tops. God, was there _anything_ normal? She shook her head, pulling out the least offensive outfit, and quickly dressed, before exiting the room, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail.

"Who the hell could've done this?" She growled, storming down the hallway, looking straight over at Paris, and completely ignoring France. It didn't take more than a few seconds for her to answer her own question, gritting her teeth.

"England. Goddammit, England! I'm going to kill him!" She growled, taking Paris' wrist and yanking her along out of the house and down the road, one destination in mind. Normally she'd have no idea where the man was, but it was a meeting day. And England always did love to be early.


End file.
